


Sweet Suffering

by Earth_Phoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Torture, Crying Kink, Dorea Prompt, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, James Potter Lives, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Lily Evans Potter Lives, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nude Photos, Praise Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Terrorism, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earth_Phoenix/pseuds/Earth_Phoenix
Summary: Dorea, prompt Queen of the Tomarrymort Sever (and we love her for it) cam up with these two Prompts and I had just *had* to write them.Prompt: Harry is the young, beloved crown prince of Britain, adored by the public all across the world. Voldemort is the leader of the terrorist group that kidnaps Harry to blackmail the British government into doing exactly what he wants.Prompt: The first time Voldemort and Harry have sex, Harry actually faints from pleasure. Voldemort won't let Harry live it down. Ever.





	1. A Bold Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miraculous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Dorea for the prompts and to the fabulous Lady Cray for doing an amazing job of Beta'ing this.

Voldemort waited in the parked car for his target to appear. His target kept the same routine every day, he could have laughed at how idiotic that was. Then again, the target probably thought they were safe. Money gives you that illusion. Voldemort was more than happy to tear that illusion apart.

Spotting the now familiar wild black hair, Voldemort picked up his phone. _R we still on 4 tonight?_  He looked out the window, wincing. It was incredible how dumb young people were these days.

He would never understand people could lower their IQ’s in such a degrading way or how they were able to find mates willing to _breed_ with them. Just how and why this lazy form of communication had become quite so popular he would never know. This, he concluded, only proved how right he was - he superior to these people, in every way that mattered.

Maybe he should force the teen to read a book, preferably the dictionary. The target was now looking at their phone typing out a reply. His phoned dinged.

_Yes._

_Perfect_. The black haired youth disappeared from view, surrounded now by friends as they headed herd like back to the assumed safety of palace gates.

He sent a text back. _See u soon_.

 

~*~

 

When the thought had first slithered into his head, he had dismissed it as quickly as it had come, it was absurd, how was he to pull something of this calibre off? But then, the thought settled in his head and festered. It had swirled around in his head, haunting his dreams, until it had transformed into a carefully crafted and well thought out plan.

It hadn’t happened overnight, no, it was slowly that the plan had come together, it had to be perfect. One slip up could have everything falling to pieces.

His short black hair ruffled in the breeze that blew up, he tucked the strands that had come loose back under the baseball cap he wore. A storm was on the horizon, which was perfect. The rain would slow down anyone trying to find them, helpfully washing away any evidence that was left behind.

Long pale fingers twitched, waiting was the hardest part. Logically, he knew he had done as much of the groundwork as he possibly could have done. The wild-haired teen would either arrive or they wouldn’t. He was standing outside the entrance of Hyde Park.

The famous London landmark was a hive of activity, despite the lateness of the hour.  Children still played, their shrill laughter threatening to bring on a migraine. The parents hovered close by, never too far from the precious spawn, lest someone like him was lurking about in the shadows.

Being who he was, it was a bold risk to be close to such a well-known landmark. Police patrolled the area. Two had already walked past him and said hello. _If only they knew_ , he thought smugly. It was thrilling, here he was about to pull off the crime of the century and those sworn to stop him were just casually walking past him.

To the East, a  flashlight flicked, he smirked. _Showtime._ He thought as he jogged into the park, pulling the baseball cap further over his face.

His target looked small without the near constant crowd of people that usually surrounded them, his heartbeat quickened as the youth moved ever closer. The rush was intoxicating. The target stopped next to the willow tree as planned and Voldemort grinned. Good. He stepped off the path and headed into the woods. He needed to come at the target from behind.

He stopped about 500 meters away from the target and checked the time. If everything and everyone was doing their job, it should be safe to move. He was going to go on a massacre if anyone fucked this up.

He approached the target slowly, who was busy looking around, confused. He pressed the gun to the small of the target’s back.

“Hello, little prince,” Voldemort purred, his lips close to the shell of the boy’s ear. “Are you being watched?”

The boy shuddered. “No,” he whispered licking his dry lips.

“For your sake, you better not be lying.” He pulled out the burner phone he had been contacting the boy on and fired off a quick text. The boy’s phone buzzed.

“Read it,” Voldemort instructed.

Shaking the boy reached into his coat pocket. His eyes went wide as he read the message on the screen.

“Nod if you understand.” The boy jerkily nodded his head. “Good, we’re going to walk together. Try to run and I’ll shoot you dead.”

He stood next to the boy, trying to make the movement look as natural as possible. They linked arms, walking along the winding park path. They looked like a close father and son, which suited Voldemort just fine.

An old beat up Nissan waited for them as they exited the park. His number two was seated behind the wheel, the boy let out a soft gasp as he recognized the man.

“Don’t make a fuss,” Voldemort warned quietly. He opened the car door, ushering the prince in. He checked his watch again, he had gained a few minutes, the timing was still going to be essential. He climbed in after the boy and car was off.

 

~*~

 

_Pay attention_ , Harry thought desperately to himself. _Pay attention to everything around you._ He could remember clearly the afternoon he had spent being taught what do if you were kidnapped, thinking it a waste of time. He had security, he didn’t to worry about being kidnapped.

He felt so incredibly stupid. The man who had put a gun to his back had wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders as they sat in the car. He clung to the knowledge that he had at least been able to see the car and would be able to give the police a description of it.

He sat, in the small car, between his kidnapper and a man with blonde hair and an arrogant face.

Harry kept his eyes facing forward, not wanting to give the kidnappers a reason to hurt him. The words on his phone were burned into his brain. _You are just as useful dead as alive. Think of your parents._

The blonde man had undone his seatbelt and was forcing his legs together. He could feel panic rising within him.

“Sssh,” The man with the gun hissed soothingly. “Luc here is just going to make sure you can’t run.”  He rubbed the back of Harry’s neck in soothing circles.

“Speaking off, I have the drug if you want it.”

Furry and horror burned at the sound of Severus Snape’s voice. Severus was his mother’s best friend and while Harry had been told that the man head ‘opposing’ views, he had never thought he could do anything like _this_.

“What do you think your Highness, are you going to be a good little boy or do I need to knock you out?”

“Please,” Harry said his voice shaking with fear “I’ll be good.” He did not these people pumping drugs into his body. He needed to be conscious. He was going to make sure these people ended up behind bars.

“Blindfold him,” The man decided, removing his arm. “The Prince knows better than to try and do something that will cost his family their lives.”

Harry’s heart stopped, fear paralyzed him. If this man had managed to get to him, what else had he done? Reflexively he screwed his face up as some rough cloth was placed over his eyes, locking him in complete darkness.

He tried to memorize everything, the sound of the voices around him. The features of faces he had seen, the smells in the car.

He tried counting mentally, trying to keep track of time and distance. Anything that could help the police.

 

~*~

 

Voldemort checked the time, it was a little after one in the morning. Outside it was pitch black, the lights of the nearest city having faded a while ago.

The car they had arrived in had been pushed into a ditch and set aflame. Bellatrix had been sent to find them a new car for the last part of their journey.

Voldemort crouched down next to Harry, who was propped up against a tree. He pulled the blindfold down, wanting Harry to be able to watch.

“Having fun?” He asked.

“If you want money -,”

“- Oh please, I want something better than _money_.” Voldemort pulled out his burner phone and quickly dialed a number.

“Whatever you want, my family can provide it.”

“Oh I know,” Voldemort flashed Harry a quick smile before speaking into the phone. “Listen carefully, I am Voldemort. I have the Crown Prince, say hello Harry,”

He pointed the phone towards the boy. “Hello,” Harry said meekly.

“If the police start looking for us, I will send the prince back - limb by limb.” Voldemort hung up and turned the phone off.

“You're Voldemort?”

“That’s right.”  The look of horror on Harry’s face was priceless. Voldemort stroked the boy’s pretty face tenderly “I’m glad you’ve heard of me.”

“My Lord,” Severus approached them, “Bellatrix just contacted us, she should be here within a few minutes.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort stood, looking down at the bound Prince. “Enjoy this, your Highness, it’s the last time you’ll ever see the outside world.”

 

~*~

 

Harry watched as the terrorist known only as Voldemort walked away, his heart sinking. This wasn’t just a normal kidnapping. He cursed under his breath if he tried to escape he’d be killed, of that, he had no doubt.

He stiffened as Severus walked over to him. “How could you?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Severus narrowed his black eyes. “I would watch your mouth boy, no one is going to be calling a doctor for you should you - accidentally, get hurt.”

Harry was pulled to his feet, wobbling slightly as his ankles were still tied together. Severus rolled his eyes and tugged Harry along, not caring that the boy struggled to keep up.

Harry wanted to say something, remind the man that he was best friends with his mother, anything to make Severus see what he was doing was wrong.

“Sev, are you still OK to drive?” Voldemort asked.

“Yes, my Lord.”

"Good, everyone same as before then.”  

Severus shoved Harry between the shoulder blades, forcing the boy forwards. Harry stumbled, a pair of strong arms caught him before he fell.

“Can we not break him until we’re at the safe house?” Voldemort snapped testily. “You can take your aggression out on him later.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest and found himself being shoved inside the car instead. This car seemed to be smaller than the last, and he was forced to lie across the bottom of the car floor.

The slamming of the car door and the rumble of the engine was his only warning that they were moving again. The car was eerily silent. No one dared to speak if Voldemort wasn’t speaking.

They hadn’t gone far when Harry felt his phone ring. He recognized the tone straight away.

“Stop the car,” Voldemort ordered almost lazily. His deft hands reached down and pulled Harry’s phone from his jacket pocket.

“Hello, your Majesty,” Voldemort purred into the phone. Harry wriggled, he couldn't let this monster speak to his mother!

The sound of guns being cocked filled the air and Harry stilled. Voldemort pulled the phone away and tutted at him.

“Play nice,” he mouthed. Harry could only watch in despair as the criminal turned his attention back to his mother.

“I can assure you, I plan on taking great care of your son - as long as you and your husband obey my commands. There is no reason for anyone to get hurt. Don’t worry, I’ll call you as soon as I’m ready to talk to you.” Voldemort hung up and turned off the phone.

“Leave my parents alone.” Harry snarled. How dare this no good _animal_ do this to his family. “When the police catch you -,”

Voldemort broke out in laughter. A high pitched, cruel sound. “Catch me? They’ve had plenty of chances and they’ve always failed. You may be the apple of the countries eye, little Prince, but you alone can not make a group of idiots more capable of doing their job.”

“You will be caught.” Harry’s green eyes flashed with anger.

“He’s cute when he’s angry, isn’t he?” Voldemort laughed. “Severus hand over the drug.”

“No!” Harry cried he couldn’t afford to be drugged. Not around these monsters.

“Sssh, darling, it won’t hurt a bit.”

The was a sharp pain in his arm and his world turned black.

 

~*~

 

The heavy pounding of rain on the window woke Harry. He sat up shivering, this was most certainly not the palace.  Looking to his right he spotted a small dresser with his glasses on it. He moved quickly, afraid of Voldemort appearing.

To his great relief, he wasn’t chained up. The room itself was basic, wooden floorboards, a single beaten up chair, a table and the double bed he had found himself on.

The two huge skylights not only provide him with light but let him know he was in the very top room.

He paced the room, keeping away from the door. It would be just his luck if he tried his handle and a terrorist decided he was trying to escape. Trying to keep his wits about him, he mentally catalogued everything useful he had on him.

He had everything he had stupidly left the safety of the palace with; a comb, some loose change, and his glasses case - everything but his phone.

Having nothing better to do and needing to feel like he was doing something useful, Harry investigated the room. The leftmost corner had a leak, he wasn’t sure how helpful that would be but decided if push came to shove, he could try to find the hole and somehow make it bigger.

Voldemort and his band of despots have done a pretty good job of making sure the room was secure. All the cracks had been covered up, the door had been added to so Harry couldn’t even see underneath it.

God damn it, why did he have to be kidnapped by a competent criminal?!

He had just circled back to the bed when he heard angry footsteps stomping his way. “Fuck.”

 

~*~

 

Voldemort banged on Harry’s door, “Step back.” He didn’t wait, instead opting to unlock the door straight away.

He stormed in, his nostrils flaring in anger. Harry was standing by the bed, looking scared. Good.

“Well?” he shouted at his men, who scuttled in, grabbing Harry roughly and forcing him into the chair.

He watched impatient as Harry’s legs were tied to the chair, the boy’s arms tied behind himself. He stalked over to the boy, grabbing the beloved prince face and opening his jaw. He stuffed a dirty rag in the Prince’s mouth.

The camera was set up on the table facing the boy. He made sure that the boy’s terrified face was framed properly. He couldn’t deny that Harry was indeed as handsome as the world’s media proclaimed him to be. He would have to take care not to scar that pretty face.

He stalked over to the shaking boy and whispered into his ear. “What happens next you can thank your parents for, all they had to do was follow my instructions and all this could have been avoided.”

Harry’s eyes were wide with fear, he screamed, the gag blocking the sounds. Voldemort patted the boy softly on the check “There, there,” he crooned mockingly “Be a good little Prince and this will all be over soon.”

Once Voldemort was happy with the setup, he and his men donned masks and turned the camera on.

Voldemort stood centre stage in his blood red mask, temporarily blocking Harry from view. He spoke directly to the camera.

“People of Great Britain, last night a gave the King and Queen a rather simple instruction. That instruction was not followed as you all have come to know by now, I don’t like it when people ignore me,” He allowed himself a sadistic grin before continuing.

“As punishment, may I present to you, Prince Harry.” He stepped out of the way, giving the scared Prince a full minute of screen time and oh, did Harry look like the perfect victim. Barely 16, full of innocence and hope. A bright, shiny, pretty beacon of hope.

Behind him, Lucius turned on a blow torch. Harry whimpered in fear, tears leaking from his eyes as he begged for mercy around the gag. Voldemort picked up the knife that had been placed behind the camera and handed it to his lieutenant.

Lucius heated up the blade, handing the now red-hot knife carefully back to Voldemort.

Voldemort plucked at the boy’s sweat-soaked t-shirt. “I wish now to speak directly to the King and Queen. Every time you fail me, your son will pay the price.” He ran the blade up the shirt, effortlessly slicing the fabric in half, revealing Harry’s firm torso to the world.

“I did always find that a hot knife cuts better, watch.” He placed the tip of the knife at the bottom of Harry’s belly button. The boy screamed louder still as the blade pierced his skin. The smell of blood and burnt skin soon filled the air.

Without warning, Voldemort sliced cleanly upwards. The knife cut through Harry’s skin like butter. He stopped at the start of Harry’s pecks. There was no need to ruin the boy completely just yet.

Harry slumped against the ropes binding him, unconscious. Blood poured out of Harry’s chest like a river that had burst its banks. The sight was arousing. Harry looked lovely covered in blood.

 

~*~

 

A solemn air covered London like a thick blanket. The terrorist organization, known only as the Death Eaters had hacked into the news broadcast to play the horrific tape in full.

Prime Minister Albus Dumbledore had issued a statement condemning the tape and the actions of the group, demanding Harry’s safe return.

As shocked and horrified the public were, seeing her son being tortured on TV was too much for Lily.  The Queen had locked herself in her room and was refusing to see anyone.

“James?” Sirius placed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get the pup back and make that bastard pay.”

James sat on the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the TV as a reporter was discussing the tape. “Yeah,” he said “Sure.”


	2. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Beta'd by the amazing copper.

There was an annoying dripping sound in the background, and Harry couldn’t summon the necessary energy to move.  When he had come around he had been alone. Someone had bandaged his chest up and placed him back on the bed. He had not seen Voldemort since. 

Three times a day, one of Voldemort’s people arrived to change his bandages, feed him and help him to the toilet that was along a hallway outside his room.

Not one of them would answer his questions. For the first time in his life, Prince Harry of England felt lonely.

 

~*~

 

“Tell me _ something _ that I didn’t know yesterday,” James drummed his fingers on the table in frustration. His son had been missing for over a week, gone too was Lily’s friend Severus Snape. 

James could honestly say that he didn’t much care that Snape was missing. The man had always rubbed him the wrong way and given off a strange vibe that was just unsettling. But he was Lily’s friend, and for her, he would put up with anyone.

“Well,” Moody, the Head of Scotland Yard began hesitantly, “we got the results back from Harry’s computer. Apparently, he’s been in close communication with what he believed to a slightly older boy. We believe that boy was actually Voldemort.”

“He’s been messaging my son?” James felt sick.

“The messages go back at least a year - the more recent ones were sexual in nature.”

“My son was being groomed by this creep? How did I not notice?’

“You can’t blame yourself. If grooming was easy to spot there would never be any victims.” Moody pointed out gruffly.

“Can we track him through his ISP?”

“We tried but he was using a VPN. The signal bounced around from New Zealand to Brazil to Ghana - it’s impossible to pin down where he really was.”

“Do you think,” James pushed down his revolution. “Do you think Harry is being - ?” He let the question hang, unable to finish.

“No,” Moody answered quickly. “Everything we know about Voldemort points to him preferring the company of people in their twenties - and Harry isn’t that.”

 

~*~

 

Harry was growing to hate the sound of the door opening. His chest was healing, but he still felt mentally frozen to the bed. He couldn’t help but think about his parents and worry about what they were growing through. Severus’ betrayal still stung. His mother’s best friend. A man he had grown up knowing. Fucking hell.

“Harry,” Voldemort’s voice made him flinch. His arms came up to cover his now scarred chest.

He shuddered as the man’s footsteps came ever closer to the bed. He screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the man who had slit his chest open.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” Voldemort stroked his hair tenderly. “I knew you would be, of course.”

Harry stayed silent he had nothing to say to the man. His pleas would only fall on deaf ears.

“You’re welcome to ignore me Rider,”

“What?” Harry’s voice was hoarse from not being used. His throat felt tight.

Voldemort sat down on the bed, “Do you remember our little chats? Or maybe you would remember better if you called me Blake.”

Harry gingerly sat up, hissing as his chest protested the movement. “That - that was you?”

Harry had hoped, had prayed that Blake and Voldemort weren’t linked. After all, he was supposed to be meeting Blake for the first time when Voldemort had placed a gun at his back. When this nightmare had begun.

“I should thank you for those pictures,” Voldemort said thoughtfully, squeezing Harry’s thigh tightly. “You have a very nice cock.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Harry said flatly, his voice emotionless.

“Not yet, dear Prince,” Voldemort stood, “the video we made of you brought in millions of views. Everyone is so very desperate to talk to me currently.” Voldemort said grinning evilly.

“Whatever you want, you are never going to get it,” Harry informed the older man bluntly. “We don’t negotiate with cowards like you.” 

“Oh, so you don’t want to be rewarded for being good, that’s fine.” Voldemort shrugged and headed towards the door. “In case you were wondering - I was going to allow you to speak to your parents.”

Harry watched the door slam shut, stunned. He let out a shaky breath. A phone call to his parents? Rewards? Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the million new questions that threatened to swarm his tired brain.

~*~

 

Voldemort walked into the converted garage with a spring in his step. The Prince was being kept off-balance beautifully. It wouldn’t be long before the boy was begging him to stay, not wanting to be left alone - and he, the kind merciful Lord he was, would grant the boy his wishes. He would happily look after the young man during the night. 

Voldemort walked over to Lucius, he was watching Harry on a monitor, the boy was curled up carefully on his side.

“Well?” He asked, leaning over Lucius to get a better look at the boy.

“He should be well enough by the end of the week,” Lucius informed his Lord.

“Fantastic. Narcissa is OK with this?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Good, place the call.”

~*~

 

The next two days (as far as Harry could make out) passed with Harry being utterly alone. No one had come to check on him. Harry was getting desperate. He needed to pee, he was hungry. He just wanted to talk to another human being. 

On the bright side, Harry was able to move easier now. Voldemort’s comment about being rewarded for being good had broken Harry out his funk. He could have spoken to his parents. He could have reassured his mother that he was fine, all this considered.

He walked slowly towards the bedroom door and knocked. There had to be people guarding him right? No one answered his knock.

 

~*~

 

Voldemort strode into Harry’s room, enjoying the way the boy flinched at the sight of him. God, the fear on Harry’s face was such an aphrodisiac. 

“Sit,” He pointed to the chair and the boy whimpered. “It’s time to make another video.”

Harry walked over to the chair that was still stained with his blood with the air of a man walking to his execution.

Voldemort crouched beside him. “You are going to read from the script we’re going to give you. Every time you miss a line or go off script I am going to remove a finger.”

“You don’t have to keep threatening me,” Harry glared at Voldemort, “I have a pretty permanent  reminder that you’re a bastard.”

Voldemort chuckled. “I love it when you’re feisty.” He pressed his lips to Harry’s check. “It makes me want to hurt you even more.”

Harry shook his head, “you’re just going to end up in more shit,” Harry locked eyes with the insane terrorist, “and are going to die in prison.”

A Death Eater entered, placing the camera on the table. Voldemort left Harry’s side as he went to watch over the set up of the equipment. He wanted his new favourite toy to be framed perfectly.

Voldemort had watched the video of Harry passing out, blood covering his chest, multiple times over the last week. Harry made a beautiful sight, bound and slumped with his handiwork on full display. A part of him hoped the Royals would fuck up again, he would love another chance to punish the Prince.

“I take it you know how to read off  of prompt cards?” He asked casually as more of his people entered the room.

“Of course,” Harry replied with a slight sneer, “though to be honest, I’m surprised you can even write - or did you get one your lackeys do it for you?”

Voldemort looked at Harry, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “I’ve had an idea. The message can wait, a certain  _ Prince  _ hasn’t learned his lesson.”

He stalked over to a pale Harry. He lifted the boy’s chin with his finger. Harry’s green eyes were filled with fear. Voldemort felt a thrill of arousal at the sight.

“I want to introduce you to my favourite cradle.” A look of confusion crossed Harry’s beautiful face.

Without breaking eye contact with Harry, Voldemort addressed his people. “It’s still in the other room, right?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Lucius replied quickly, “Would you like us to bring it up?”

“Quickly.” Voldemort hissed, his dark eyes glued to Harry’s scared green ones. “I thought you had learnt. I thought the idea of speaking to your parents would have been enough to get to behave, but no. That pretty mouth of yours just had to keep talking.”

Lucius returned with Severus, the pair carrying a modern version of the classic Judas Cradle.

The original device was created in the medieval period, and was one of the Dark Lord’s favorites. The cradle was bastardization of a stool, with a still tipped period taking the place of the seat. The idea was simple in it’s torture. The victim was suspected above the device and slowly lowered into it. The tip tore apart the victims rectum.

Voldemort had the thing specially made, the cradle now had long spikes around the tip, designed to cause maximum damage. Voldemort pulled Harry out of the chair.

“Place it here,” He informed the duo, kicking the chair out of the way.

“No!” Harry turned, attempting to flee.

“Oh no you don’t,” Voldemort pulled Harry close, pinning the boy’s arms to his side. “This might make you think twice before opening that mouth.”

As Severus and Lucius looped rope around rings that had been placed in the ceiling, Voldemort began to undress Harry.

“Please!”  A sob escaped Harry’s throat. “Please don’t!

“You have a very nice body Harry,” Voldemort,  ran his hands over the smooth planes of Harry’s chest. He traced the line of the scar, enjoying how Harry shuddered with fear. “If you were wise you’d want to keep it that way.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t thinking, I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“Hang him up,” Voldemort smirked, pushing Harry towards the two men. “Have him hover over it for now.”

He left, heading to his bedroom. He had a video feed of Harry’s room set up there and he wanted to be alone as he enjoyed watching Harry, naked and crying, hover over one his favourite torture devices.

 

~*~

 

Lily clutched James’ hand tightly as they walked shoulder to shoulder into the morgue.  When Dumbledore had arrived at the Palace informing them in gentle soothing tones that a body had been found matching Harry’s description, Lily had lost herself.  If the body was Harry’s - if she had lost her little boy - Lily wasn’t sure she would able to cope.

They stopped outside the double doors that would lead into a small room, where they would be able to view the body. James wrapped an arm around her, fighting to hold back his own tears.

“It’s not Harry, it can’t be.” James’ voice wobbled, “That monster knows he can’t kill Harry yet.”

“Does he?” Lily turned her for towards her husband.“What if  -,”

“No Lils,” James interrupted firmly. “We cannot think that Harry is dead.”

Lily nodded and together they walked through the doors.

The room inside was bare, sterile. A large curtained window took up most the wall. Lily left James’ side to stand in front of the curtain.  _ Please God, please don’t let it be Harry. _

James stood behind her, arms around her waist, ready to catch her if she crumpled.

“We’re ready.” He said after a moment.

The curtains opened. A figure laid on the steel table, covered in a sheet. A woman stepped out of the shadows to fold the sheet back, revealing the face of the child.

“Oh thank God!” Lily sagged in James’ arms, relief flooding her veins. “That’s not my boy.”

 

~*~

 

Harry had never felt so stupid. All he had to was just agree and do whatever Voldemort wanted him to do, but no - he had let himself get angry - he had let his temper at the situation run away with him. God damn, he could such an idiot sometimes. 

He had been suspended in mid-air for what felt like hours. His arms were raised above his head, ropes held up his legs, so he was forced into a sitting position. It  _ hurt _ . His arms were burning, his legs shook and in the back of his mind was the constant fear that if he struggled too much, he’d slip onto the cradle and tear his arse to pieces.

This time he couldn’t blame Voldemort, this agony was his own damn fault. He could only hope that Voldemort wouldn’t keep him like this for long.

  
  


~*~

 

Severus bowed before his lord, part of him wishing that the man had continued his perverse watching of the Prince. He had been dreading this meeting.

They had driven out to a local graveyard. Voldemort seemingly at home amongst the dead. Tonight, for this special occasion, all of the Death Eaters had been gathered. Their lord wanting to celebrate their victories and in times like this, mourn their losses.

“My child,” Voldemort ran a hand through Severus’ long silky hair. “I admire your bravery.”

“I would do anything for you, My Lord,” Severus kept his eyes turned down. It was a crime to look directly at his Lord without consent.

“I know, and that makes me so proud of you.” Voldemort circled the kneeling man, his hands clasped behind his back. “You have done so much for me, for us.”

Severus remained silent, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Everything he had done, he had done for the honour of his Lord. It was a comforting thought.

Voldemort stood behind him. “Your life will be forever celebrated.”

“My life is meaningless next to yours. Your life and teachings shall be known throughout the world for all of time.”

“Yes,” Voldemort agreed “You see friends? How the truth is always spoken at times like this.” A murmur of agreement ran through the gathered Death Eaters.

The Dark Lord placed a knife lovingly at Severus’ throat, slicing into the tender pale flesh of one of his most loyal followers.

Severus’ dead body fell forwards, eyes staring emptily at a headstone.

“I want the body sent directly the Queen.” Voldemort turned and walked to the waiting car, knowing his people would follow his orders.

 

~*~

 

Narcissa Malfoy walked to her seat in the House of Commons, passing the Prime Minister as she did so. The old man looked worn out. She sat crossed legged as Dumbledore spoke urgently to his fellow party members. 

She couldn’t blame him, dead ‘Harrys’ had been appearing almost every day. All with the red lines down their chests. Most with their eyes removed to fool the public.

However, panicked the public and Dumbledore felt now was nothing. All she had to do was make sure Dumbledore didn’t do anything that could get in the way of her Lord’s plans.


	3. Flesh Of The Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence towards Harry towards the end. It's been scaled back, but it's still somewhat upsetting. 
> 
> A/N: Huge thanks to Copper for her amazing Beta work on this chapter. Not only did she help once, but I added another 1,000 or so words and she very kindly Beta'd it again. 
> 
> I'd like to thank you to all the Beta's that have helped this year - Copper, Rach, Red, Dorea, Cray, Madi, Meb, & Aubry. 
> 
> To all those who offered valuable feedback either my reading something over (Ave), or who offered constrictive criticism. My writing has improved so much thanks to you lovely people.
> 
> Most importantly - thank *you* - the person reading this. Thank you for coming back, thank you for the kudo's, comments and bookmarks over the last 12 months. 
> 
> May 2019 bring all your hopes and dreams true. Have a truly traffic New Year.
> 
> Onwards and upwards, my friends, onwards and upwards. The future is ours!

The red blinking light of the camera was starting to annoy Harry. He had been tied to a rickety chair for what felt like hours, stuck repeating a madman’s words, and he was _ tired _ of it. After being released from the cradle, Voldemort had gone back to his original plan of having Harry film this video, or rather, series of videos. 

Voldemort had left some time ago, making Harry feel even more agitated. He didn’t feel safe when Voldemort was around, but he felt even less safe when the man left his sight. 

“Right, just one more to go,” A small, squat looking man with watery eyes said cheerily. He waddled out change the cue cards and Harry choked when he saw what he had to read.

The man noticed. “It ain’t so bad, kid.” He smiled, revealing a row of rotted, yellow and missing teeth. Harry recoiled. “At least he isn’t here to remove a body part.”

Harry grimaced, that was true. Voldemort wasn’t here, and therefore, he was able to keep his fingers, for now at least. He wiggled them, feeling each one move and praying that Voldemort never did something as drastic as removing them.

“Remember, speak clearly and don’t deviate from the cue cards.”

Harry nodded his head and cleared his throat. “Hey, Mum and Dad, if you’re watching this I’m still alive…”

 

~*~

 

Albus was sweating under the intense questioning coming from the gleeful opposing side.  _ It wasn’t his fault no one could find the Prince _ , he thought angrily. No one had ever been able to discover who Voldemort really was or where he and his followers hid. 

“The Prince has been missing for over a month now and the public lives in fear of finding him dead - what are you going to do about it, Prime Minister?” His counterpart smiled wickedly.

“We are doing everything we can to find the Prince -,”

“- Have you told the King and Queen that?” The smug bastard asked. “Queen Lily seems to be cracking under the pressure. The American President called you incompetent.”  

Albus wanted to gnash his teeth together in frustration. “With all due to respect to the American President, he hasn’t been able to catch this monster either.”

“But are you doing enough?”

“I have the police, the army, and the navy looking for him! Millions of pounds are being spent on the search.”

“Oh, the so the public has to foot the bill in finding him.”

Albus took a deep breath, calming himself. He was not about outmaneuvered by some half-wit of an opponent.

Collecting himself, Albus smiled with grim resolve. “And what will you tell the public, when you announce the only legitimate heir to the throne was brutally murdered on your watch? How will you explain to the public that adores him that you allowed a known terrorist to kill a member of the Royal family in a grotesque way? Decide which side of history you’d rather be standing on when all this is over.”

 

~*~

 

Voldemort walked into Harry’s room. The boy was sleeping, his chest rising and falling evenly. The scar he had left on the boy was still an angry-looking red where Harry had rubbed at it. He tutted, it would have healed by now if Harry would just leave it  _ alone _ . He had considered keeping the wrappings over it until it had faded into a white line, but he rather liked seeing his handiwork on the boy. 

Voldemort pulled out a blindfold and slipped it over Harry’s eyes, tightening it at the back to make sure it couldn’t come off by accident.

He picked the boy up, carrying the Prince bridal-style, and left the room. Harry weighed almost nothing in his arms, fitting rather snugly into them.

The boy woke as he was walking down the stairs, kicking and squirming to get free.

“The value in keeping you alive is slowly diminishing, this isn’t helping your case.” The prince stilled, breathing hard. “Better.”

“If you let me go, I can speak to my parents, get you a pardon.” Fear laced Harry’s voice, the soft whimpers escaping the young prince making his cock twitch.

“Oh, so you don’t want me to lock me up anymore? I’m flattered.” Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. “I suggest you keep quiet if you don’t want to be gagged.”

His men were waiting outside, the van Bellatrix had stolen recently ready to go. He passed Harry to Lucius. “Secure him.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” The man bowed, dragging Harry over to the vehicle. He was shoved face down into what Harry could only assume was the back -- it was too large to be a normal boot.

Ropes were tied around his ankles and wrists, not that they were needed. Harry was not about to try and escape from a moving vehicle when it was manned by terrorists only too happy to kill him.

 

~*~

 

Harry hated the fact he couldn’t see. With the blindfold on, he was no longer able to take mental notes of his location. Bugger it. 

The blindfold wasn’t his only concern. He had no desire to die. If he couldn’t find a way to make Voldemort want to keep him alive, he was doomed. Harry tried to think, desperate to find a way to stay valuable.

Something heavy was thrown over him and he coughed from the dust it kicked up. A knee pressed against the small of his back.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Harry couldn’t place the voice, but the sound of a gun cocking drilled the point home.

The hum of the engine soon lulled Harry back to an uneasy sleep.

The slamming of doors and the sound of raised voices woke Harry. He flexed his shoulders, the skin of his wrists rubbing against the roughness of the rope painfully.

His shoulders hurt from the awkward position he was in. His mouth and throat were dry. Harry wasn’t sure when he was last allowed to eat.

Someone uncovered him and pulled him into a sitting position. The blindfold was pulled down around his neck. Harry screwed up his face as sunlight assaulted his eyes. Someone pulled his mouth open and he squirmed.

“Calm down, your highness, it’s only food.”  

Harry opened an eye to see Voldemort crouched down in front of him, a nutrition bar unwrapped in his hand. Harry’s stomach rumbled at the sight of food.

The terrorist held the bar in front of Harry, who hesitantly took a bite. The older man smirked, unwrapping the bar more.

Harry chewed slowly, his brain working fast. Asking where they were or what was happening was not an option. He needed this man to believe Harry was beginning to support him. If he could get some amount of freedom, he could find a way to escape.

“Thank you,” Harry offered before taking another bite. Voldemort just stared at him and Harry sighed mentally. All those years spent learning how to be a King had never prepared him for this.  _ How does one charm a maniac? _

“So polite, even when faced with a man who holds his life in his hands,”

“Everyone deserves kindness,” Harry said softly, “Even you.”

Voldemort chuckled, “You don’t believe that anymore, I can see it in your eyes.”  He cupped the young man face, “Even if you still do, I can fix that. It’s time for your makeover.”

Harry was not fond of “makeovers” in general. He had spent his whole life being either praised or criticised for what he wore. The media wrote articles dedicated to ‘Princely Fashion’ based on his wardrobe.

Voldemort carried him out of the van, his people gathered around, grins on their faces.  _ Shit _ .  He was forced to kneel in front of the terrorist. The sound of a shaver being turned on made him flinch.

“I know,” Voldemort laminated, “this is going to hurt me too, you have such lovely hair.”  

Harry stared blankly at the ground as his hair was shaved off. Seeing his untamable black hair on the dewy green grass was startling. He knew why Voldemort was doing this, of course, it was a ritual stripping of his identity. It was a tactic used by terrorist organisations and kidnappers. He could remember sitting in a class full of other young royals, laughing at the  _ idea _ of ever being kidnapped. The sun had been shining brightly that day, lighting up the whiteboard and making them all feel  _ special _ . They had guards, special forces protecting them. No one would ever dare even try to get near them.

“Take your glasses off and lean your head back.”

Voldemort’s cold voice made him shiver, bringing him back to the moment. He whimpered, not wishing to expose his throat to the man, but obeyed.

“Good boy. Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt those green eyes.”

 

~*~

 

The Order of the Phoenix had gathered in the hidden depths of Buckingham Palace. Created centuries back, the Order was only called when the Royal Family was in dire need of help. The latest video of Harry begging for his life and relaying the demands of a madman played on a TV as the members watched in horror. 

“He can’t be serious!” Alastair Moody slammed a hand down on the table, rattling the cups of tea. “We are not going to release a bunch of terrorists.”

“Of course not,” Albus agreed, tugging at his beard. “We do have to get the Prince back, however. Public morale is low. America has offered to help.”

“Can we - I know it’s rotten for the Prince - but is he worth the trouble?” All heads spun towards Peter Pettigrew.

“Are you suggesting we let my son die?”  James asked incredulously. “Harry is my only son. I am not going to let him  _ die _ .”

“Think of the people!” Peter countered, rising to his pudgy feet. “He is one Prince. You and Lily are still young, you can have more children. The public would love another royal birth.”

“Someone shut him up before I kill him,” James hissed.

“That’s enough Peter,” Albus glared over his half-moon glasses. “Harry dying is not an option, we are sworn to protect the royal family. We need to find him before it is too late.”

The phone in the centre of the long ash table rang. Moody answered, growling affirmations into the phone. He replaced it onto the receiver.

“Severus Snape’s body has been found. A message was pinned to it -  _ The Prince will be next _ .”

“We have police stationed at every motorway junction, every toll point in and out of England. We are going to find him -  _ alive _ .” Albus tried to be reassuring. “There is nowhere they can move without us knowing about it.”

“How do you know that?” Peter asked, “They were able to take Harry and they have him holed up somewhere. They don’t even need to move. As long as where they are is secure, we may never find him.”

“PETER!” Albus yelled, “Goddamnit, that is not helpful.”

“Peter, I swear to God I will throw your ass into the Tower if you don’t shut up.” Lily walked into the room, her heels clicking loudly on the cold stone floor. Her eyes were like ice. She clutched a mobile phone tightly in her hand.

“My son is missing and my best friend was just murdered,” She said as she stood to next to James. “We are going to save my son, no matter the cost.”

 

~*~

 

Voldemort wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, a switchblade pressing against the boy’s taunt stomach underneath the buttoned-up shirt and thick woollen jumper as they approached the toll bridge. Harry whimpered, biting hard on his bottom lip. 

“Let’s see how good your acting is,” Voldemort whispered into the young Prince’s ear. The boy shivered.

Soldiers approached as the car slowed to a stop. Lucius rolled the passenger window down. “Can we help you?”

“We’re searching every vehicle for the Prince.” The soldier patted his gun, “You don’t mind if we take a look?”

“Of course not,” Lucius agreed easily. “We only hope he’s found soon.”

Another soldier approached, this one younger and carrying a camera. Voldemort scowled. “No one in this car looks like the prince.”

The soldier shrugged, “Don’t care, we’re recording everyone who moves between the borders. Why are you going to Wales anyway?”

“We’re heading to my summer home,” Lucius replied smoothly, “I felt like a spot of fishing with my friends.”

The soldier peered into the car, squinting. “Aren’t you Lady Malfoy’s husband?”

“I am indeed,” Lucius sighed, “I have to say, her working all hours of the day trying to find Prince Harry hasn’t been easy for either of us.”

“Sure,” The soldier sneered. “Hey, what’s with the kid?”

Lucius eyes flicked up to the wing mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly. “A son of a friend of mine, handy with a fishing rod.”

The prince smiled nervously, “Hello,” he said softly.

“You fish?” The man asked, looking over Harry carefully. “Are you cold? It’s fifteen degrees right now.”

“I -,” Harry hesitated “I have Leukaemia. I’ve been having treatment for it -,”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The soldier took in Harry’s pale face and thin body in a new light.

“Name?” The man asked, less certainly now.

“Robin,” Harry said calmly, “Robin Huntington.”  Harry cleared his throat, “The Prince is still missing then?” he asked nervously.

The soldier scribbled the name down, suddenly tense. “Yeah, has been for a couple of  months now.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. Months? It had only felt like weeks since he had left the safety of the palace. The knife pressed sharply against his stomach, piercing the skin. Harry hissed in a breath, which went unnoticed by the soldier who was busy taking pictures of everyone in the car.

“I’m going to need everyone’s names.”  The soldier said eventually.

Sweat rolled down Harry’s neck, he could feel blood slowly slipping through the new cut. Hot and wet against his skin. How can the soldier not notice? He wanted to scream, to shout.  _ How can you miss me? Save me _ .

Voldemort shifted, moving the knife away from Harry slightly as everyone inside the car began muttering amongst themselves and gave fake names.

“Well done, Harry,” Voldemort whispered as they drove away sometime later. “I’ll have to reward you for doing as you’re told.”

Harry ignored the man, looking over his shoulder as the soldiers became spots on the horizon, his chest tight as we wished he was with them.

 

~*~

 

Voldemort held a sleeping Harry in his arms bridal-style as he walked into the new safe house. He had given Harry a little help to sleep -- it was easier this way. 

Walking carefully down the basement steps, he placed the young prince on the bed. He stroked the boy’s face fondly. Harry looked so attractive in his sleep.  He cupped the teen’s balls, squeezing them, as he remembered their explicit conversations online.

It had been surprisingly easy to trick the boy into thinking he was some duchess from outside of the UK; it helped that he had forced the girl into helping him make the charade convincing.

Harry let out a soft moan as the drugs continued to work on him, his eyelids fluttering softly as he dreamt. Voldemort resisted the urge to undress the boy and take him while he slept. With a sigh of regret, he squeezed Harry’s cock one final time before removing his hand.

There would be plenty of time to bed the boy later.

“Sleep well, little Prince, for soon you will be King.”

 

~*~

 

Harry inspected his new room carefully, wincing as the manacle around his ankle cut into his skin. He was now in a basement, he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. The basement was much larger than the attic room he had been kept in previously, but he could now hear constant footsteps as Voldemort’s people walked overhead. The soft murmurings of people talking above his head drifted down to him, their words a mystery. 

The basement came with a small window, and Harry had already pushed a broken computer chair up against the wall. It had taken some effort, but he managed to open the window a crack and breathe in the cool air.

It was too small for him to wiggle through, but at least he now had a better idea of the time of day. The open window had another benefit - he could hear more clearly the Death Eaters’ conversations when they went outside to smoke.  So far, he had managed to learn some names, which would come in handy when he could finally speak to the police.  _ If _ he ever got to speak to the police.

Harry sat back on the middle of the bed, there were cameras in the basement that followed his every movement. He flipped them off. What kind of pervert wanted to watch him use the toilet or sleep?

“Harry.” Oh right,  _ that _ pervert. Harry grimaced as Voldemort entered the basement, a tray of baked treats in his hands.

“What are those?” Harry asked warily. He slowly moved up the bed until his back was resting on the headboard.

Voldemort had the audacity to chuckle. “I did say I would give you a treat for being good in the car - unless you wanted something more  _ adult _ .”

“With you? Never.” Harry tried to dreg up the usual revulsion, turning his face away.  

Voldemort stalked closer to the bed. “But Harry, that’s not what you told me. Didn’t you say you wanted to gag on a cock? To be choked and beaten? I’m sure you said something about trying watersports. Honestly, I had no idea royals were so kinky.”

“Fuck off, you lied to me. If I had known who you really were-,” The manacle around Harry’s ankle clinked loudly as Harry tried to back further away from the terrorist.

“-Then you would’ve said it to some silly little bint who has no idea how to give you what you need.”

“And you can?” Harry asked sarcastically, “I don’t know how to break this to you, but kidnapping someone and doing fucked up shit to them isn’t what I need.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it turns some people on.” Voldemort curled the chain around his hand as he spoke.

Harry glared. “I am not  _ some people _ .”

Voldemort grinned, “That’s why you’re here.” He pulled on the chain, bringing Harry towards him. “You need to eat.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut as Voldemort picked up a slice of treacle tart and held it in front of him. He was not going to eat from his kidnapper’s hand.

“Oh come on, just take a bite.” Voldemort gripped his chin with his free hand. “Or do you prefer when I’m rough with you?” Harry quickly took a small bite, moaning in pleasure as the sweet taste flooded his taste buds.

“Good boy.” Releasing Harry’s chin, Voldemort instead started to stroke Harry’s hair. “Behaving yourself is in your best interests, I can promise you that.”

Harry took another bite, deciding that eating was a better use of his time than arguing with the man.

“Those lips would look amazing around my cock,” Voldemort commented after a moment.

Harry choked. He coughed, swallowing hard.  Voldemort continued to stare at him, seeming unfazed by Harry’s surprise.

“No,” Harry said firmly.

Voldemort cupped Harry’s face, making him flinch. There was something wrong about the touch and yet -- Harry pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Locking it away. He would not give in to that ‘yet.’

Voldemort seemed unbothered by Harry’s “no” and they fell into a tense silence. Voldemort pressed chocolate and cakes into Harry’s eager mouth.

“My Lord.” Harry stilled as Lucius appeared in the basement, a grim look on his face. “You’re needed.”

“Some other time, Harry,” Voldemort said regretfully.

Harry watched him leave, dread filling him. He did not like the look on Lucius’ face. Not one bit.

 

~*~

 

Voldemort listened to the message King James had left on his burner phone. The number had been sent to the palace shortly after Harry was taken, should the King ever want to accept Voldemort’s demands and have his son returned to him. Voldemort’s face was impassive as James’ rich voice filled the kitchen. 

“Turn it off.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I want a volunteer to meet our noble King and tell him his offer has been declined.”

Bellatrix threw her head back and cackled, “Fool! Did he really think we’d accept that over what we asked for?”

Voldemort’s offer had been simple, really. A royal pardon for his people and for the government to close down temporarily. Voldemort had also thrown in a demand for money. James has chosen to focus on the money.

“Bella, go down to the basement and tie Harry to the floor, he isn’t going to like what’s about to happen.”

Indeed, Harry did  _ not _ like it. The Prince screamed and fought as his men held him down, Bella laughing the whole time. Barty ran a knife lightly under the first few layers of Harry’s skin, expertly removing a well-known birthmark on the Prince’s arm. The lips shaped mark was almost as famous as the Prince. Located at the top of Harry’s shoulder, it was always on display whenever the Prince wore a sleeveless shirt during the summer. There were even sites dedicated to posting every picture of the mark, which Voldemort had found amusing. Ah, to be a fangirl.

Harry’s screams were beautiful. The boy’s back arched, his legs kicking fruitlessly as he pleaded for mercy. It was arousing. Voldemort could easily have taken the boy right then. Crying and bleeding, Harry had never looked more beautiful.

The whole scene was filmed, the public had a right to know the cost of failing to do what he wanted.

Voldemort stood over Harry. Sweat glistened on the boy’s skin, blood pooled around him. He knelt, pushing the sweat-soaked hair out of the boy’s face. Harry’s eyes flicked open, his wet green eyes standing out even more against the pale skin.

He knelt down and gently picked the young prince up, cradling the injured boy in his arms tenderly. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you like this, but your father needs to learn.” He wiped tears from Harry’s face. “It’s going to be OK, Harry.” The prince looked at him, his pain filled eyes searching his. Finding what he needed, Harry nodded.

Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry’s sweaty forehead. “Someone clean him up, we don’t want him getting an infection now, do we?”

 

~*~

 

Harry lay on the bed, his shoulder bandaged but still aching. His eyes were pinned on the basement door. In the days that followed Voldemort’s people taking his birthmark, he had been extra jumpy. That night, Voldemort had come down to the basement and spent the night with him. 

At first, Harry had panicked, unsure of the man’s intentions. Voldemort had simply slipped into the bed, pulling Harry close. Murmuring words of comfort and support in his ear. Harry had been sure it was some sort of trick, but it had felt so good to be held, for his fear to be washed away for a moment of comfort.

Voldemort explained his version of events. How and why everything had happened. It couldn’t be all lies, could it?

Every night since had been the same, Harry as the little spoon, wrapped in Voldemort’s arms.

The basement door opened and Voldemort stepped into the room. “Hello, Harry.”

Harry relaxed at the sound of the voice. There was something comforting knowing Voldemort was here, even though his mind screamed at him that it was wrong.

“Hi.” Harry moved from the centre of the bed to what had become his side of the bed in the past few days.

Voldemort dropped a newspaper onto the small table next to the bed. Harry perked up, he hadn’t seen any news since the night Voldemort had taken him from the park. He was aching to know what was going on the outside world.

“You don’t want to read that,” Voldemort shrugged out the pale blue shirt he had been wearing. “There’s nothing nice in it, I’m afraid.”

“My parents?” Harry asked quietly.

“Oh I forgot - congratulations, you’re going to be a big brother.”

Harry’s brow creased, something about that sounded wrong. He was sure his mother had been warned against having more children for the sake of her health.

“Oh.”

Voldemort climbed into the bed, the zip of his trousers undone. “I know it must come as a bit of a shock, but you’ve been gone for a while and the King needs an heir -,”

“But,  _ I’m  _ the heir,” Harry’s voice was thick with confusion.

“Harry, my sweet,” Voldemort pressed a kiss to the side of Harry’s face, “Not anymore.”

“But-,”

“Harry, why do you think you’re here?”

“You kidnapped me.”

Voldemort snorted, “Do you really believe that? That someone was able to get to you? A member of the public, no less?”

Harry’s shoulder throbbed painfully, his throat still hurt from all the screaming he had done. “I -,” he trailed off, He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

“You hurt me.”

“I was following orders, I’m sorry.” He pressed another kiss to Harry’s check.  

Harry knew these words by heart now, Voldemort had told him this on the first night they had laid together. Something about those words felt like an itch. He knew they were wrong. He knew he had to keep fighting against them -- but-.

Harry turned his head towards Voldemort, allowing the older man to capture his lips in a heated kiss. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool. He couldn’t think straight.  He felt Voldemort squeeze his thigh, a hand slipping between Harry’s open legs.

“Please don’t.” Harry broke off the kiss. Using his good hand, he pulled the blankets on the bed up around him.

“Alright,” Voldemort sighed, “I have something for you.”

Harry watched nervously as Voldemort left the bed, shaking off his trousers and somehow managing to make the movement look elegant. He picked up a box Harry hadn’t noticed earlier, quickly slipping into the bed and pulling Harry to him, so they were snuggled up together.

_ If this was home _ , Harry thought,  _ this would’ve been cosy _ .

“Here,” Voldemort handed Harry the box, helping him to open it as he fumbled trying to open the lid with only his right hand.

A freshly baked cream finger doughnut sat inside the box, it was lightly dusted with icing sugar and Harry could have wept with how good it looked. The smell, oh it was perfect.

“Go ahead,” Voldemort urged.

Harry’s stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything in the last few days. With a quick look to Voldemort, Harry reached into the box.

“Good boy, make sure you eat all of it and then we can sleep.”

Harry nodded, his mouth already full of blissfully sugary doughnut and cream. Next, to him, Voldemort chuckled and slipped deeper under the covers.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s sleep was restless that night. The lure of a newspaper was too much. He slipped from the bed, grateful that the chain around his ankle had been removed. 

Unfolding the newspaper carefully and making sure to stay in the weak moonlight, Harry had to cover his mouth, so he would not gasp out loud.

 

**_Voldemort Strikes Again: Bomb In Norwich Kills 36_ **

_ The terrorist known as Lord Voldemort attacked Norwich last night, planting a pipe bomb outside a cafe. 36 people lost their lives in the blast while another 8 are currently in hospital receiving treatment. 3 are said to be critical condition. This follows bombings in London, Glasgow, Cardiff and Somerset. The MET Office has managed to defuse 7 bombs before they went off, saving hundreds of lives. _

 

Disgusted, Harry flicked through the rest of the newspaper, needing to arm himself with information. 

**_Prince Harry Watch: Prince Remains Missing, More Sightings Reported_ **

_ Five months ago, Prince Harry was kidnapped by Voldemort, who has proceeded to torture and humiliate the prince ever since. Messages of support have been sent to the King and Queen from all over the world. _

_ Harry, 16, was beloved by all who met him and his kidnapping has sparked outrage on every continent. In the Prince’s absence, Voldemort has made several demands to the Royal Family, including the release of several high-profile killers. All attempts of reaching a compromise have failed, the latest failure horrifically resulting in Harry being mutilated.    _

_ This hasn’t stopped the public from flooding the Crimestoppers number to report sightings of the missing Prince. The latest reported sighting suggests that Prince Harry is being held somewhere near Dover which has lead to fears that Voldemort plans to leave the country with the young Prince. _

Horrified, Harry quickly closed the newspaper and folded it back up. He moved stealthily back towards the bed and hoped that Voldemort hadn’t noticed he was missing. The man appeared to be in a deep sleep, however, and Harry sighed in relief.

Harry climbed back into bed, his mind clearer than it had been in a while. He needed to escape. He needed return home and hand over all the information he had to the police.

 

~*~

 

Dumbledore paced his office, a letter from Voldemort lying open on his desk. The pressure from the public to do something was rising every day. In the time that Harry had been missing nearly three hundred people had died. Voldemort always seemed to be ten steps ahead of the law.  _ And now this _ . 

Dumbledore stopped pacing, glancing over to the letter once more. He was out of options. No matter how it looked to the public, the time had come to send James and Lily into hiding.

 

~*~

 

In the days after Harry had been able to read the newspaper, the air in the safe house became tense. Standing on the chair, Harry was able to watch as Voldemort and his men brought guns into the house. 

There seemed to be more people living in the house. The sounds of a TV and radio playing could be heard more regularly.

Still, for all the sounds heard during the day, nighttime was quiet. Harry tried not to think about what happened when everyone left during the evening. What evil plans Voldemort was putting into place. How many more innocent lives were being lost.

The basement door opened. Two Death Eaters walked into the basement, one carrying a leather bag.  Harry recognised them as McNair and Yaxley, two of Voldemort’s worst followers. It was placed on the floor and the Death Eater searched through it quickly, pulling out a needle.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “You’re not drugging me again.”

“We don’t take orders from you, kid.” Yaxley spat, filling the needle with a clear liquid.

McNair walked over to Harry, grabbing his left arm, squeezing Harry’s bandaged hand painfully.

“Just because you're our Lord's whore doesn’t mean you can order us around.” He shoved Harry painfully to the ground.

Yaxley laughed, “Just let us do our jobs, you little brat.”  Harry hissed in pain as McNair delivered a swift kick to his ribs. A boot was placed on his back, to keep him down and panic swelled inside of Harry.

The last time he had been held down by Voldemort’s people he had lost a chunk of skin. He wasn’t ready to lose anything else. Adrenaline flowed through him as he lurched unsteadily to his feet, surprising the Death Eaters. The basement door was still open. He ran.  

Harry burst through the door at the top of the stairs and slammed it shut. He looked around, trying to find the easiest escape route.

He turned right, running into a large living room. He stopped short, and there was an awkward pause as the Death Eaters registered that  _ Prince Harry _ had just appeared in the room.

Behind him, the basement door opened. Harry started running again and managed to dodge the only arm that tried to grab him. He skidded into the next room, which appeared to be a kitchen. Harry aimed a kick at the door and it burst open. He was finally outside. His heart thumping wildly inside his chest, he ran straight ahead of him. He could hear shouting behind him, the sound of footsteps chasing after him. He thanked God for the training he had received from the TA.

Harry scrambled over a broken wooden fence, losing his footing briefly. Someone grabbed his arm. He tugged hard, breaking free. The ground underneath him was muddy, slowing him down a little.

The sound of a gunshot rang through the air. Harry dove to the ground, his breath coming out in painful gasps. More, angrier yelling now. He placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself up. His left hand throbbed angrily with pain and he winced. Right, he couldn’t put his full weight on his injured hand just yet.

The ground in front of him began to slope down. A hill. He was atop a hill; pausing to look around he quickly saw that around him was all rolling green hillside.

He knew this place. He was in the Brecon Beacons.

_ “Harry!” _

He ran. Whoever that voice belonged to was not a friend, and the Beacons would give him very little cover. He needed to find a road, any road.

Harry found himself skidding most of the way down the hill, only to find a grassy field at the end of it. He darted left, hoping to come across something that would help him.

He pounded across the open ground, hating that he was so exposed. Any one of Voldemort's followers could shoot him. He was a stupidly easy target. He longed for some kind of cover. Why was there never a kindly old lady in a cottage that could help him?

Harry let out a strangled cry of joy as a line of grey appeared in the distance. A road! Cars!  _ Freedom. _

Harry looked over his shoulder as he neared the road and stopped. The Death Eaters were standing in a line in the distance. It unnerved him, they were supposed to be chasing him and yet they were going to let him just go? No, something was happening. Something bad.

The sound of a car’s engine roaring towards him, pulled him from his musings. He jumped into the verge as the car screeched to a halt, parking across the road.

The car door opened and Harry’s heart sank.

“Well,” said Voldemort crossly, “You’re not where I left you.”  

“I -,” Harry faltered

“Get into the car, Harry,” Voldemort instructed, sounding annoyed.

Harry looked at the car, his dreams of escaping crashing down around him. There was always the next time, he told himself. Next time he would be faster, smarter. He was not going to be a prisoner forever.

Harry walked over to the car, dreading the ride back.

“No, Harry,” Voldemort said, his eyes burning with anger. “Get in the boot.”

“The boot?” Harry’s mouth ran dry.

“We’re going for a little ride.”

He was in very deep shit.


	4. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort loses his temper, someone tries to kill one of the Royals, and Harry slowly succumbs to Voldemort's manipulations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to the amazing and super talented Caty to Beta'ing this chapter. Your feedback was perfect! <3 <3 <3

James stepped out of the car. He had been told to wait in some random car park in Hull.  _ Hull!  _ He couldn’t help but hope Harry was being kept in a more upmarket part of the country. 

Albus remained in the car, making phone calls to reassure people that  _ yes _ , they were fine.

The drive from London to Hull and been long and James was sure that Lily would call his mobile any minute, to give him an earful for just leaving like that. If it meant he could tell her he was bringing Harry home, well, it was worth it.

A small black car pulled into the spot beside James. His heart rate increased as the man calmly stepped out.

“Where’s Harry?” he demanded.

“Alive,” the man shrugged.

James narrowed his eyes, the man was bearded, his nails long and dirty. The man’s dark hair was matted, clinging in lumps around his shoulders.

“Alive isn’t good enough. I want my son.”

“Yeah, yeah and my boss wants his demands met. You have met them, right?” The man grinned, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth.

“Right,” was James’ dull reply. “The money has been wired to the account and the criminals have been granted hearings with the patrol board to see if they are fit for release.”

“Hearings?” The man scowled. “That’s not what my Lord asked for.”

“Your lord isn’t even a lord at all,” James snapped. “He is nothing but a murderer. Once I have my son again, I will rain down hell in your _ lord _ for daring to touch him.”

The man dully back at James for a minute and then began to shake with laughter. He doubled over, his hands clasping his knees as he struggled to suck in enough air as the laughter continued.

“Oh,” he said eventually, was he was able to get his laughter under control. “We promise to give Harry a really nice burial.”

“How dare you,” James spat. He made to move forwards.

“I wouldn’t if I was you.” The man began to open his car’s door. “One call from me and the kid dies.”

James snarled, grinding his teeth together. “I don’t believe you.”

“Yeah? Wanna put it to the test?” The man pulled out a phone and punched in a number. The phone was put on speaker and after a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

“This had better be good, Greyback.”

James froze, all bravado falling away at the sound of Voldemort’s voice.

“I’m just having a lovely conversation with the King.” Greyback grinned. “He didn’t believe that I would you call you about Harry.”  

“That is the problem with the current generation of Royals.”  Voldemort tutted before turning serious. “Leave him, Greyback. Return at once.”

"Yes, Sir.” The call ended and Greyback smiled. “Bye,  bye your majesty.”

James watched him leave with a rising sense of hopelessness.

“James, get back in the car,” Albus said softly. James turned to face his old friend, who had gotten out of the car sometime before and had been watching the interaction from behind the vehicle.

“I’m never going to see him again.”

“Of course you will. James, we are bringing Harry home.”

James shrugged and climbed back into the car, his expression grim.

 

~*~

 

Harry shivered in the boot. The roar of the car engine was loud to his ears. Only his pounding heartbeat seemed louder. He was going to die. Alone and begging for his life - this was how it would end. Of that he was sure. 

The look on Voldemort’s face as Harry had climbed, shaking into the boot had been murderous. He had really fucked up this time. Oh God, he was never going to see his parents again. He screwed his eyes up, trying to block out the pain that thought caused him.

The car screeched loudly to a halt, the sound of cars doors opening and slamming shout echoing loudly in the small space. The boot popped open.

“Out.” Voldemort's voice was curt. Sharp.

Harry hurried to obey, not wanting to anger him any more than he had already.

“I would have thought,” Voldemort began casually, “that your parents would want you home alive. But no, if it’s not them disobeying me, it’s you and  _ you  _ I thought I could trust.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “You don’t have to do this, I can help you.”

Voldemort grabbed his arm, pulling him deeper into what appeared to be a wooded area. Harry blinked back tears, fear gripping his insides, turning his blood to ice.  _ He wasn’t going to die like this _ , he couldn’t.

Harry was shoved painfully to the ground, his knees hitting the ground with force. He sucked in a painful breath. He scrambled away from the angry terrorist, turning to look at once he felt he safe distance away.

“Help me, Harry?” Voldemort asked, his voice laced with anger. “How pray tell is trying to escape  _ helping me _ ?”

Harry gulped, he had no answer for that. “I -”

“You need to learn how to lie better.” He walked over to where Harry was huddled.

Crouching down, he grabbed Harry's chin and forced the boy to look at him. “After everything I have done for you. Every kindness I have shown you, this is how you repay me?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I’ll be better I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.” Voldemort let go of Harry’s chin. “I have gone out of my way to be kind to you Harry, I have tried and tried to return you to your parents and all I am met with his disloyalty and lies.”

Voldemort paced in front of the scared prince. “Tie him up.”

 

~*~

 

Peter wiped his sweaty palms on his shabby looking trousers. He hurried down the corridor, trying to look like he belonged there. The gun felt heavy in his jacket pocket.  

One of Queen Lily’s maids walked past, eyeing him oddly. Peter tried to smile reassuringly.  He checked his watch, his whole body trembled and he was forced to use his other arm to steady. 6:17 AM.

Already, Peter was behind schedule. He should have already carried out this task. He had several angry messages demanding to know what the hell was going on. Heart pounding, he opened the door into Lily’s bedroom.

The room was bathed in soft sunlight. Next to where Lily slept there was a bedside table covered in framed pictures of Harry. Harry was a small baby; Harry riding a horse; Harry with his friends laughing on a beach; family portraits; Harry standing with the Marauders.

Peter stared numbly at that picture, he remembered that day. Because of who he was, Harry had never been allowed to go trick or treating on Halloween with his friends. So James had decided to start a father and son tradition instead. James and Harry would go camping in the woods on Palace grounds. James telling the most fantastical ghost stories and toasting marshmallows on the fire.

That year, when the picture had been taken, the Marauders had all been at the Palace together for the first time in a while and Harry had invited them to come camping.

Lily had taken the picture of the five of them before they had shouldered their sleeping bags and tents and walked into the woods.

Sirius naturally, decided it would be a good idea to give the eight-year-old prince coffee. James had been less impressed when the following day he had to explain to Lily why their son was bouncing off the walls.

Peter gently put down the picture frame. He couldn’t dwell on fond memories of the past with what he was here to do.

He stepped closer to the bed, standing over Lily. He was so close he could count her eyelashes. She looked peaceful asleep. Peter picked up a pillow, she would look peaceful forever.

 

~*~

 

“Please,” Harry begged, squirming against the ropes that held him. “Just let me talk to my mother, she’ll listen to me.”  Sweat dripped down his nose, his whole body shook. He could feel every bit of bark from the tree he was tied to pressing into his back. 

“She hasn’t listened to you yet.” Voldemort stood in front of Harry so they were eye to eye. “In fact, your parents and the government have made it clear they won’t negotiate with me, which is too bad, you are so pretty.” He touched the handle of the gun to Harry’s face, enjoying the way Harry’s breath hitched. Tears leaked out of his screwed eyes.

“That’s because they know I was reading from a script. If you’d let me talk to her - actually talk to her-” Harry shifted against the ropes, all too aware of the sounds of Voldemort as he stood and loaded a pistol.

“Is there anywhere you’d like me to aim for? Not your head obviously, why scar that handsome face?”

“Please don’t kill me,”  Harry begged. Tears streamed down Harry’s face and he stared into the barrel of the gun.

“Harry, my sweet Harry, I need people I can trust-”

“-You can trust me!” Harry interjected desperately.

“People who won’t try to run away. Don’t you love me, Harry? Don’t you want me to look after you? To protect you?”

Harry stared hopelessly at Voldemort. He knew what Voldemort was saying was wrong. He knew that the man standing before him was the one he should be scared off - in the face of death, however, his mind panicked.

“I- I love you, of course, I do. Please don’t do this.”  Harry's chest hurt. He was breathing hard, his breath coming out in pain filled gasps. He had to do something and quickly.

Harry cleared his throat. “I, Henry Alexander James Arthur Philip Potter, Prince of Wales, Scotland and Ireland. Heir to the throne of England and of the Commonwealth, do hereby dub you, Voldemort, Lord Voldemort of Oxfordshire and Sussex.”

Voldemort, who had been loading the gun as Harry talked. Cocked it. “How very Princely of you.”

He raised the gun, pointing directly at Harry’s heart and then pulled the trigger.

Harry had expected death to hurt, to be able to feel the bullet piercing his body, ripping a hole through him. He felt nothing. The sound of laughter began to register, despite the ringing in his ears from the gunshot. He sniffed, amazed that he still could and realised he wasn’t dead.  He opened his eyes, Voldemort looked back at him cooly.

“You get to live, for now.” Voldemort pointed at the car. “Get in the car.”

A Death Eater approached, cutting Harry lose. He fell to the ground and scrambled to his feet, he glanced over his shoulder, there was a hole in the tree to the side of the one he had been tied to. He gulped, shaking with fear and headed towards the car.

The Death Eater’s continued to laugh as he obeyed, Voldemort walking close behind him. His mind was in turmoil, he had almost died. That bullet was meant for him. He turned to face Voldemort, eyes wet with tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Voldemort grabbed him by the chin and pulled his head up. Harry whimpered, his head pounding in pain and the early onset of a stress headache.

“Don’t thank me just yet, little Prince.” Voldemort tightened his grip on Harry’s chin. “You still have a lot of making up to do.”

He let go and Harry stumbled back, hitting the back of the car. Without saying anything more, Harry turned, prepared to ride in the boot.

“No, Harry, you’ll be sitting with me,”  Voldemort said.

Harry glanced up, surprised, but nodded his head. Anything was better than the boot. He shuddered, if he survived all this he was going ban cars from having them.

Voldemort settled Harry on his lap once everyone was in the car. Harry felt his face heat up as the older man’s erection pressed into his backside.

  
  


~*~

  
  


James strode through the corridors of the palace. He ached, deep within his bones. He had spent so much time searching for his boy, he had barely slept. He had made sure Lily slept through. One of the first things he did after Harry went missing was to call their doctor and have Lily prescribed sleeping aids. It was bad enough one of them was making themselves unhealthy by not sleeping - Harry needed one of them to be well rested when he returned home. 

After the shit show that was Hull, James hadn’t been able to face coming home without Harry. To see how disappointed and upset Lily would be. Albus had driven them back to London. The prime minister had grumbled a bit, reminding James that he wasn’t a taxi - but James hadn’t really been listening. James had walked the streets of London for a while. His unshaven face and bloodshot eyes turning into the perfect disguise.

Being anonymous in London had given him new insight into his family and how the public saw them. One thing was for sure, Harry was adored. For the most part, people seemed supportive of his quest to get his son back.

Hearing the feedback from the public had given him new life. He was going to find Harry, of course, he was. It was just taking more time than he had planned.

Right now, all he wanted was his bed and his wife. He couldn’t keep living off coffee and false leads. He wasn’t going to lose his marriage because he stopped being the husband his wife needed.

James walked into his bedroom, debating whether it worth changing his clothes or not and stopped dead.

Peter was inside his bedroom - a fact that was bizarre enough. He hadn’t seen Peter inside his bedroom since they had shared a dorm together as boys. No, the most bizarre thing was what his friend was doing.

“Get away from my wife.”

Peter looked up, sweat dripping down his face. “James.” He tried to blink away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes.

“That’s right.” James’ voice was low. “I knew you were a coward, Peter, but I never expected this from you.”

As he spoke, James pulled a small handgun from the holster he wore under his jacket. Peter squeaked, the fear obvious in his eyes.

“Do you really think I’d leave my family unprotected? After what happened to Harry? You really are a fool.”

“James, you would never understand.” Peter stepped back from the bed, putting some distance between himself and the sleeping queen.

“I agree, I could never understand the mind of a weak, pathetic coward like you.”

James walked further into the room, noting with deep satisfaction that Peter moved back, away from Lily.

“You made a very stupid mistake Peter. Attempted murder of the Queen? That’s treason for a start.”

Peter whimpered, dropping the gun.

James made his move. Running at his once friend, James pulled his arm back and landed a hefty punch the smaller man’s face. Breaking his nose with ease.

He punched Peter again. And again. He couldn’t help himself. He poured months of worry, frustration and fear into punching every inch of Peter he could.

“Your Majesty!”  Hands pulled at him, pulling him away from Peter. He roared with anger. He wasn’t done. Peter had wanted to kill his wife.

“Put the bastard in the Tower,” James spat. “In. The.  _ Tower. _ ”

 

~*~

 

Voldemort walked into the basement. Harry was lying curled up on the bed, once again a chain placed on his ankle to keep him from running. 

He felt Harry’s eyes on him as he walked around the room. Harry’s movements had been severely limited since his attempted escape. Voldemort picked up a syringe filling it with thick grey liquid - a concoction that he had made himself.

He turned to face Harry at last, who flinched at the sight of the syringe.

“You don’t have to drug me,” Harry said softly. “I swear I’ll-”

“Be good? Stay put?” Voldemort scoffed. “The last time I left, you tried to leave.”

Harry winced, his escape attempt weighing heavily on his conscience. It was wrong, he knew to feel bad for wanting to go home. It didn’t stop him for feeling bad though - especially when Voldemort reminded him of it.

“I’m not leaving,” Harry said, looking down at the worn bedspread. “I do learn from my mistakes.”

“So do I.” Voldemort approached the bed, standing over Harry. “So, I suggest making this easy on yourself and let this happen.”

Harry closed his eyes, hating this. “Alright,”

“Good boy.” Voldemort grabbed his right arm, being surprisingly gentle as he found a vein and injected Harry.

Voldemort stood over Harry until the drug had completely taken hold on the Prince was lying on the bed, his eyes closed, breath even. Still, he placed to fingers on Harry’s neck, checking that the boy still had a pulse. This concoction he had made was still trial and error and he didn’t want to kill Harry too soon. Not with the plans he had in mind for the Prince.

Voldemort quickly undressed Harry, stepping back to admire how good Harry looked naked.

Taking out a new burner phone, Voldemort took a series of photos, moving Harry’s compliment body to get the best angles.  Voldemort sat on the bed, next to Harry and tugged at the hair growing from Harry’s chin.

“Nope, you’re far too pretty to have a beard,” he informed the unconscious boy. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

He sent the pictures off and waited.

 

~*~

 

Harry walked around the basement feeling uneasy. It had been days since he had seen Voldemort, it was unsettling. Harry was horrified and shocked at how easily Voldemort sharing a bed with him had seemed both natural and comforting. 

It didn’t help that with Voldemort absent, his followers didn’t seem to care if he had enough food to eat or not.  Sighing, he sat down underneath the basement window, pulling his legs up under his chin.

Voldemort would be back soon, he hoped.

 

~*~

 

Harry could have cried with joy when at last, the basement door opened and Voldemort appeared. He had been sitting at the table, idly scratching his name into the wood with his fingernails, just for something to do. 

Voldemort strode over, looking thoughtfully at the painful indents. “Maybe I should give you something to occupy you.”  He tugged at the short black locks. “I’m glad to see your hair’s growing back, I must say.”

Harry ran a hand over his short, close-cropped hair. “I’m starting to like this look. I’ve never had my hair this short before.”

Voldemort ran a hand down the side of Harry’s face, cupping his face. “It’s time for this to go.”

Harry dug his nails into the table again, feeling awkward. The day his dad had taught him how to shave, was one of the proudest moments of his life and one his fondest memories. He had done a terrible job, his face chin covered with little nicks and toilet paper.

He remembered the way his mum had had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing, the pride in her eyes. The way her perfumed filled his nose and she hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

It was going to be so very different now he was a prisoner. And it was silly to feel that way, but he couldn’t help it.

"So, does this mean I'm going to be allowed to use a mirror?" Harry asked. While the basement did come with its own plumbing and bathroom, it lacked a mirror. Voldemort had once said he didn't need Harry attempting to take his own life.

That felt more menacing then it felt reassuring.

"No, it means I am going to shave you and, if you're a very good boy, you're going to get a present."

Harry's stomach grumbled loudly. Harry flushed. "I'm sorry, I haven't eaten in a while-"

"What?" Voldemort's voice turned into ice.

"I-" Harry said trying to explain. "You weren't here, so..."

"I see, and do my people do this often?"

Harry shrugged. "As often as your not here," he admitted.

"Thank you for telling me this Harry.” Voldemort placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me."

Harry stood, the chain around his ankle clinking loudly. Voldemort looked down, surprised and then knelt, removing the chains.

"This way," was all he said.

Harry followed wearily, as Voldemort headed for the basement door. He had never been allowed out of the basement before. His stomach churned with nerves.  Voldemort stopped, noticing Harry's fear.

"You're not in trouble. No one is going to hurt you when I am around."

Voldemort reached out a hand and with only a moment's hesitation, Harry took it.

They left the basement, hand in hand they walked through the house. Harry kept his eyes locked on the ground, not wanting to see the faces of the Death Eaters. Voldemort's hand squeezed his, offering silent encouragement and support.

Voldemort led him into the kitchen, where Bella was smoking, leaning against the cooker.

"Get out and tell everyone to meet me outside in fifteen minutes."

Bella looked like she was going to disagree but quickly thought better off it. She hurried out of the kitchen, not saying a word.

Voldemort turned to Harry with a grin. "What do you feel like having? Eggs? Something more… filling?"

Harry could feel his face heating up at the older man's word. "Erm, eggs are fine. Scrambled."

"Scrambled eggs coming up." Voldemort opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs.

Harry stood awkwardly in the kitchen. This at least felt normal. Someone else making him food.

The smell of eggs quickly filled the kitchen and Harry sat down, mouthwatering.

"Do you want anything else? Toast? Bread? Baked beans?"

"Er, just some toast please," Harry answered. Voldemort nodded, his attention focused on making the eggs. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry blurted out.

"I keep trying to tell you," Voldemort sighed, "I am not the monster you think I am. I do care about you."

The scars on Harry's shoulder and chest throbbed painfully, a reminder of the pain he had suffered at Voldemort's hands.

A plate of scrambled eggs and toast was placed in front of him. "If you want more, there's plenty of eggs in the fridge. Now, stay here while I go yell at my people."

Harry watched anxiously as Voldemort left him alone in the kitchen. He could make another run for it.  The sound of a gun being fired kept him where he was. There was no question in his mind, that if he ran a second time, Voldemort would shoot him dead and save himself a lot of hassle.

He could not die, he had to see his parents again.

Harry decided against making more scrambled eggs. He would never admit it to the likes of Voldemort, but he had never made himself breakfast. Or cooked for that matter. The Palace was home to a team of incredible chefs that cooked whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He had never had a reason to be in a kitchen, aside from to order more food.

At a guess, he assumed that Voldemort came from a more humble working-class background, something he would never be able to relate to.

Work? The fear of not being able to pay the rent? The stress of needing to keep your home heated and the lights on vs the need to buy food. These were worries and concerns he had never had. He had never once had a sleepless night over money.

Voldemort and the people who supported him, lived in a very different world than he was used to. He could empathise and make speeches about how awful these things were, but having never lived them he could never fully understand.

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts by the kitchen door slamming. Voldemort glowered in the doorway, radiating anger from every pore.  Harry shrank back, not wanting to suffer the man's wrath.

"Don't be silly, come here."  Voldemort held out a hand. Biting his lip, Harry walked over and took it, finding himself in an embrace.

"Did you make anything more to eat?" Voldemort asked.

Harry shook his head, feeling safe in Voldemort's arms.

"Do you want anything more then? Tea?"

"I'd love a cup of tea," Harry said pulling away from Voldemort.

"Then tea you shall have."

 

~*~

  
  


Harry tried not to look around Voldemort's bedroom too much, though his curiosity was killing him. He did manage to spot several computer screens that seemed to be watching the basement. He tried not to shudder at the thought of Voldemort watching his every move.

"Why don't you lie down on the sofa? Make yourself comfortable." Voldemort gestured to the long black leather sofa, that sat along one wall of his bedroom.

Harry settled in the chair, trying not to show how nervous he was. Voldemort was going to  _ shave _ him. No one had ever done that before and Voldemort wasn't just anyone, either.

Voldemort placed a bowl of steaming hot water on top of the bedside cabinet. Harry was already relaxing on the sofa, his eyelids drooping shut.

Walking over the to the sofa, he pushed Harry down gently.

He wrapped a warm towel around Harry's face, pleased to see the drug he had slipped in the Prince's tea was taking effect. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as he was taken under, his breath evening out in sleep.

Voldemort ran a hand over Harry’s chest. If he was honest with himself, he was surprised how easily the boy was falling into his games. It made him wonder how the perfect royal family actually treated their son. Harry seemed hungry for any sign of love and affection.

If that was the boy needed, he would be more than happy to supply it. Perhaps even. Yes. He knew what he had to do. One simple act to get the boy on his side forever.

Removing the wrap he massaged beard conditioner into the growing beard. He never did anything in half measures.

Of course, it would be a shame if Harry's clothes got dirty.  

Unable to resist such a tempting display, Voldemort leaned over Harry's body, sucking a pink nipple into his mouth. The prince tasted as good as he looked. Voldemort bit down gently. Harry's mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

_ Soon, _ Voldemort thought to himself.  _ Soon you will be screaming my name. _

He moved on to the other nipple, sucking and biting that one to attention. Satisfied, he moved down Harry's body. Kissing and licking at the exposed skin.  A dark trail of hair led down to the base of Harry's flaccid penis.

Voldemort sat up and parted Harry's legs, Harry fidgeted a little in his sleep, his eyelids flickering as Harry fought to wake himself.

"Sssh, baby." Voldemort kissed the inside of Harry's thigh. "It's alright, I'm here."

Harry hole was tight, untouched. Voldemort's desire for Harry only increased at the thought. "You will only know my touch," he vowed.

Harry was his greatest success. Every day Harry turned against his family, doubt creeping in at who was behind him being taken in the first place, and with Voldemort as a source of information. Well, who could blame Harry for falling for Voldemort?

Voldemort placed a finger at Harry's entrance. It would be so easy just to take the boy, here and now. Harry was far too out of it to stop him, or even remember that he had touched him.

No, he wanted Harry to know. He was a patient man, he could wait for the day when Harry  _ wanted _ him.

Instead, he unzipped his jeans and pulled at his cock. Just because he was going to wait for Harry, didn't mean he couldn't have his own pleasure.

 

~*~

 

Harry felt dazed, his head hurt. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake fully. Someone rubbed his back. He straightened, afraid.

"I'm here, you're OK."

Harry relaxed, right. He was safe. He was on the bed in the basement. Voldemort was in the bed, and he was lying against the man's chest. He sighed in contentment, this was how things should be. Just him and Voldemort.

“You have been very good lately.” Voldemort idly ran a hand up and down Harry’s back. “I think you’ve earned a special reward.”

Harry shivered at Voldemort’s touch. “Really?” He didn’t want to be too hopeful, the shame of his attempted escape still weighed heavily on him.

“Yes. Come on.” Voldemort sat up, gently dislodging Harry and held out his hand.

Harry bit his lip unsure. He looked at Voldemort, needing reassurance.

“I’ll be with you, you’ll be safe.”

Safe, yes. Harry smiled, he would always be safe with Voldemort.


End file.
